A Noble Little Girl
by MyChemicalTuna
Summary: Donna Noble and her four-year-old daughter live a peaceful, if mundane life, in Chiswick. But one Christmas could cost Donna the one thing she values most. The beginning to a long ficverse.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: I do not own Doctor Who, BBC, Donna Noble, Sylvia Noble, Wilfred Mott, or Shaun Temple. Trust me, there would have been a different ending to Journey's End if I did.**_

* * *

**CHRISTMAS DAY 2015**

"Mummy! Mummy, look, it's Christmas!"

Donna groaned and rolled over in bed, hearing the small yet solid footsteps rapidly approaching her room. She hoped to savor the last few seconds of peace and darkness.

"Mummy!" came a final shriek, and suddenly, light flooded into the bedroom, through the shutters and the widely opened door. Donna sat up and rubbed her eyes just as a pink-clad figure tackled her back down again. "Mummy! It's Christmas! Father Christmas came, Mummy! Happy Christmas! Mummy, wake up!" Margaret bounced up and down on top of Donna's bed, her red hair flying, her pink footed pajamas a blur.

Donna moaned. "Margaret, it's too early." She pointed to the alarm clock next to her bed, which read 9:56. "Mummy doesn't leave bed until ten on Christmas." Donna pulled her pillow over her face and burrowed under the blankets. "Give Mum four minutes or more."

"Mummy!" Margaret whined, yanking the pillow away from Donna's face. "Gran and Great-Gramps are here! Wake up, Mummy!" She began to smack Donna with the pillow, not very hard for an adult, but with as much force as a four-year-old her size could muster. "Wake up! Come ON, Mummy! Father Christmas leaved presents and I think I saw some for you, even!"

"All right, I get it, I'm awake, darling!" Donna sat up, put Margaret on the floor, and worked her way out from underneath the covers. By the time she had stood up, brushed her hair, and put on only enough makeup to look vaguely presentable, the time was 10:01. Throwing a bathrobe on over her old pajama pants and grey sweatshirt, she headed downstairs, to where she could already hear her mother and grandfather talking to an excited Margaret.

Shortly after Donna's marriage to Shaun Temple four years before, she had gotten pregnant. Though she hid this from Shaun for a little while, he found out and left the morning after his discovery, leaving a warm place in the bed and a forty pound check made out to the Nobles. No one heard from him again. Margaret somehow happened to look nothing like her father, and instead had the fair skin and fiery hair of her mother, not to mention the same amount of sass, but in a smaller package.

After the ordeal with Shaun, Donna had been completely heartbroken. For weeks, she sat in her room, unsure of whether to cry or punch a hole in the wall. Luckily for her, Margaret was just young enough that she hadn't started asking any questions about who her daddy was.

"Donna!" Sylvia Noble called the minute she could see her adult daughter. "What kept you so long? We've nearly been here an hour!"

"Not that we didn't enjoy it!" Wilfred butted in, ruffling a grinning Margaret's hair. He wore two sets of reindeer antlers on his thin, silver hair. "Our little pippin 'ere couldn't stop babbling. Could you, Pip?"

Margaret shook her head and saluted Wilfred. "No, sir!"

"Look at the little thing!" he chuckled.

"All right, you," Donna said, lunging toward Margaret and lifting her up, putting the little redhead on her hip. Margaret giggled. "Let's get something to eat, then we'll open your presents."

"No, I'm opening my presents, you're opening yours!" Margaret retorted, crossing her arms.

"Got me there." Donna laughed and planted a kiss on Margaret's forehead. "Did Father Christmas eat his cookies?"

"All of them!" Margaret wiggled out of her mother's grasp in the kitchen. "Can I eat a Christmas cookie right now, Mummy?"

"No, Margaret."

"Please?"

"Margaret Noble."

"Mummy."

"Why don't you bring Gran her coffee?"

"Fine." Margaret sulkily took the coffee mug from her mother and marched into the sitting room.

Donna returned to the sitting room with a platter of toast. "All right, I'm hungry, I don't know about you lot. Mum, Gramps?"

"Not hungry," Sylvia said dismissively, staring distantly at the star on top of the Christmas tree.

"Mum, please eat." Donna brandished the plate stubbornly in front of her mother.

"Donna—"

"Don't worry, I'll eat 'ers," Wilfred said assuredly, taking two slices of buttered toast. "Pip and I'll eat the lot." Nodding, Margaret snagged a piece of toast and methodically began tearing the crust off. Still unsure, Donna lowered the plate.

"Donna, I'm perfectly fine," Sylvia scoffed. "Now, Margaret, dear, why don't you go ahead and open mine and Great-Gramps's parcel? It's the silver and gold box, dear."

Clapping excitedly, Margaret put down her toast and reached for said box, tearing at the paper like a kitten. She crumpled up the wrapping paper and opened the shoebox inside. Puzzled, she turned back to Sylvia and Wilfred. "It's empty."

Sylvia's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

A pout beginning to form on her face, Margaret stuck the box out in front of her. "There's nothing in the box, Gran."

Donna tilted her head, like a puppy hearing a sound for the first time. "Mum, what..."

Wilfred chortled quietly. "Sylvia, I do believe you forgot to put Pippin's present in the box."

"Dad, this isn't funny," Sylvia hissed. She then turned to her granddaughter, taking Margaret's face in her hands. "I did get you a present, dear, I guess I just left it at home. Donna, dear, I think I'm driving back home to go get it."

"Mum, that's on the other side of Chiswick!" Donna countered. "It'll take you much too long."

Margaret tugged on Donna's bathrobe. "Mummy, am I going to have to wait for my presents?" Donna shook her head and made a "shh" motion.

"Mum, I'll go get it for you. Margaret, dear, if you want, you can open your presents with Gran and Great-Gramps until—"

"But I want to open them with YOU, Mummy!"

"I'll get it quickly, Margaret," Donna said, getting up decidedly. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Go ahead and start without Mummy." Margaret nodded, but the pout on her face was unavoidable. "Just a few minutes," Donna repeated. She glanced pointedly at Wilfred. "Keep an eye on her, Gramps."

"That's your mother's job."

"Gramps."

"All right, but I'm not making any—"

"_GRAMPS_."

Wilfred smiled, the corners of his infinitely wise pale eyes crinkling. "Of course, Donna. It's too light out for stargazing with her Great-Gramps, so we're staying in. No astronomy, just Christmas gifts."

Donna nodded. "I'll be back, you lot."

* * *

Donna pulled into the driveway minutes later, after a pleasantly chilling drive through Chiswick with the windows down. She held in her lap a green cellophane bag which contained her mother and grandfather's Christmas gift to Margaret, a mystery to mother and daughter alike. Donna rose from the driver's seat and walked to the front door, savoring the deliciously nippy December air.

"Mummy's got your present, Margaret!" she called into the tiny townhouse, locking the door behind herself. No squeal of joy met her words, no mad dash for the front door could be heard. Donna's eyebrows lowered in her classic manner.

"Margaret?" A low wail sounded in harmony with her daughter's name, from somewhere deep within the house.

A cold, raw terror began to race through Donna's veins, reaching her brain in an instant. "Margaret!" she yelled, her voice cracking slightly, the cellophane crackling in her grip. She jogged into the kitchen—empty. The den—empty, save for the Christmas tree and a mound of pristine, unwrapped presents. Finally, she sprinted up the stairs and pushed open the door to Margaret's bedroom to find her mother kneeling beside the small bed, her body shaking, the occasional wail audible from the doorway. Her grandfather sat solemnly in a lilac-upholstered armchair chair across from the bed.

"Mum?" Donna couldn't mask the high-frequency quivers in her voice. "Gramps? Where's Margaret?"

No response. Wilfred stared into space. Sylvia kept sobbing.

"Where is Margaret?"

"She's gone." Wilfred didn't meet Donna's eyes, instead staring at the stuffed animals crowding the shelf above Margaret's bed.

"What do you mean, gone?" Donna said, trying to even out her manic breathing. "She's a little girl in a little house in a little neighbourhood, how can she be gone?"

"She told your mother she was going to 'er room to get our presents." He shifted in the armchair. "We 'eard the window open, we 'eard a voice that wasn't hers, and then the window shut. By the time we got in 'ere...she was gone. She didn't even scream."

Donna gripped the edge of the little bed to keep herself from swaying. "No. No, please no."

Sylvia looked up, paler than before, her eyes puffy. "She was just...taken."

"I reckon it's like I told you, Sylvia," Wilfred said gravely. "No 'uman could have gotten in and out that quickly."

"GRAMPS!" Donna shrieked. "Now is not the time! Your great-granddaughter was kidnapped and you're blaming it on bloody aliens! You're being completely stupid! Am I the only practical one in this family?"

"Dad, please try to see reason," Sylvia begged.

"Sylvia, I am perfectly capable of logic, thank you." Wilfred crossed his arms. "Little girls don't just disappear, and besides, Donna, Margaret loved you too much to run away. She's been kidnapped, and I'll bet she wasn't taken by any normal kidnapper. No one could pry open a locked window that quickly, much less have time to grab a little girl and leave in a matter of seconds, you 'ear? Whatever took your daughter wasn't a 'uman! It's them. It's them, I swear by it. Do you want to know why I watch the skies, Donna? It's not just a crazy old man's 'obby. It's because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of someone—something—taking you, or your mother, or your little girl. That's why I'm always so concerned about the skies, Donna."

"Dad," Sylvia cautioned through gritted teeth. "There aren't any such things as aliens, all right? And if there were they wouldn't matter right now. Don't listen to your grandfather, Donna. Donna?"

But Donna had taken off, down the hallway, toward her own bedroom, where she collapsed in a mound of silent tears.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I still don't own anything that BBC owns. Not the Doctor, not Donna Noble, and not the coolness of bowties. I do own the Iaculi and Margaret.**_

* * *

"Where is the girl?" rasped a voice from within the shadows, dry and cold as a snake's. The pitch-dark shadows of the metal halls were sparsely punctuated by the occasional yellow-green bulb.

"I have brought her, Septhalos," another voice hissed in response. A pair of albino-white, chafed hands from the shadow shoved someone into the light; a little girl with flaming red hair and terror-struck wide eyes. Margaret quivered, staring from the darkness behind her to that before her.

Out of the shadow in front of the little girl stepped a man white as a winter frost. His head was completely bald, and his ears were tight to his head. The man's eyes were a shocking green, with skinny, snakelike pupils. His alabaster skin seemed scaly, shiny in places and dull in others. He smiled coldly, displaying a row of razor teeth. The girl whimpered.

Septhalos knelt down in front of Margaret, placing his long and skinny fingers lightly on her shoulders. "Hello, sweetheart," he rasped, a note of knife-sharp condescension in his voice. "I thought we'd never meet. So you're the one." He raised a hand to her forehead and let it drag lazily across her face, touching her features as though a blind man.

"I'm what one?" Margaret asked quietly, avoiding his eyes, shuddering as his scaly palm brushed her cheek. She recoiled, her little hands clasping beneath her chin.

He chortled. "If you only knew how powerful you were, little girl. Little Noble girl." He pinched her cheek with needle nails, making her cry out in shock. "Of course you don't look so mighty now, do you? But given time…oh, the things you'll do for me and my people. The Iaculi have never faced such potential."

He stood up, glared at the snake-man behind Margaret. "Coluber?"

"Yes, sir." The man who had brought Margaret stepped out of the shadows again, looking even more grotesquely reptilian than his counterpart.

"Take our little guest to somewhere she can spend the night. Find proper lodging for the most important woman in the universe." Obediently, Coluber lifted Margaret up by the waist and swung her over his shoulder, her tiny body limp and powerless in his massive, scaly hands. "We'll see you in the morning, Donna Noble."

_I'm not Donna_, Margaret thought quizzically. _That's Mummy's name._

She closed her eyes, the swaying motion of the man holding her becoming nothing more than a lull. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend it was her daddy holding her. The daddy she'd never met.

That wasn't working. All that made her think was that her daddy wasn't good. That he worked for the bad guys. That he and Mummy were bad.

But of course they weren't.

She missed her mummy. She missed her already.

Margaret was scared, lonely, worried, tired. The habits of a four-year-old took over, and Margaret did what she always did when she was scared: she counted.

_Now, let's see, there's one…two…three…_

The lulling walk got shakier as Coluber began to ascend a flight of stairs.

_Four…five…and then six, right?...eight…no, seven, then eight…_

The shaking was over. The man came to an abrupt halt, but Margaret kept her eyes sealed shut.

_And then there's…there's nine…and then ten…ten's my favorite…_

She was thrown off of Coluber's shoulder and onto a thin, springy mattress. She heard a solid, metallic slamming noise, and no more light flooded through her eyelids.

_There's ten…and then one ten…one ten…that's eleven...Eleven looks like two trees, or maybe two poles…like a jail…_

_I'm in a jail, for bad girls._

She wasn't a bad girl. She hadn't done anything wrong.

Had she?

Margaret opened her eyes, to let the tears fall out onto the mattress.

* * *

She woke up on the same mattress, in the same dark room. What's worse, she'd wet the bed. Embarrassed, the little girl rolled off the bed and onto the floor, bringing the pillow with her.

Not a minute after she had migrated from the urine-soaked bed to the floor, the metal door swung open, blinding light streaming into the room. Frightened, Margaret scooted up against the wall, clutching the pillow like a life raft. Her little eyes went wide.

A tall, skinny, youthful-looking man with huge brown eyes stuck his head into the room. He glanced around for a bit, before his gaze alighted on Margaret. He grinned a boyish grin.

"Hey there!" he said softly as he entered the room. Margaret pushed herself up against the bed, looking away and biting her lip, pillow still clutched between her arms. "Oh, it's alright!" he murmured, kneeling on the floor a ways from her. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

Margaret met his eyes at the word promise. "You promise?" she whispered.

"I promise," the man repeated, and Margaret relaxed, retaining her hold on the pillow. The man shifted on his knees until he was comfortable. "You're not Donna, are you, little girl?"

"No, my mummy is Donna."

"I thought so. Then who are you?"

"I'm Margaret and I'm four."

"Nice to meet you, Margaret-and-I'm-four." The man shook her hand like a businessman would, making her giggle.

"What's your name?" Margaret asked, squeezing the pillow a little tighter.

"I don't have a name, Margaret," he responded.

"That's silly. Everyone has a name." Margaret spoke firmly.

"Well, you can call me the Doctor, then."

"That's not a name!" Margaret giggled.

The Doctor pretended to be ashamed. "It's my name. The Doctor."

"Like a doctor?" Margaret's eyes narrowed with a suspicious face identical to that of her mother. "Like the doctor who gived me a jab and telled Mummy that I had to eat yucky fish oil?" She shuddered at the thought. "Or like a doctor who helps people so they don't die?"

The Doctor's smile faltered for the shortest second before it came back. "I'm that kind. The helping kind."

"Oh, okay. That kind's okay."

A gentle silence fell over the room. Margaret stared at the Doctor's shirt.

"I like your bow."

"What, this?" The Doctor pointed to his bowtie. Margaret nodded. "My bowtie? Thanks. Bowties are cool."

"You're silly." Margaret giggled again.

"I am certainly not silly!" the Doctor mock-protested. As Margaret burst into rollicking laughter, a grating noise like shrieking steel shook the room.

Mirth draining from his face like blood, the Doctor pulled Margaret close to him, silent in an instant. Margaret suppressed a whimper, curling her legs to her chest. When no more grating noises followed, the Doctor stood up, hoisting Margaret onto his back.

"Come along, Margaret. Let's get you out."

* * *

_**Well, whaddya think? How's it going? Please R&R...and yes, I am in the process of writing Chapter 3.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Finally finished with Chapter 3, hooray! And no, I still don't own anything except a lovely metal Dalek I made in chemistry class, and the Iaculi and Margaret.**_

* * *

Margaret shivered, the open, dim expanse of the hallway as menacing as a monster's mouth. Cool air whisked down the corridor, screaming as it passed. For consolation, she buried her face in the Doctor's shoulder, wrapping her arms tighter around him and whimpering just a little. The small girl hung off his back.

"Doctor, I'm scared," she whispered, her voice quavering and hoarse.

The Doctor patted her hair. "Shh, you're alright," he whispered. "You're absolutely remarkable, Margaret."

_She truly is remarkable,_ he thought. _Few little girls would have been brave enough to make it for so long in a place they didn't know. Must be that Donna spark in her._

He shook his head to clear it of the guilt accompanied by that name. Didn't want it on his plate, not when what he needed to focus on was getting a small dependent little someone out of a massive metal block.

"I'm scared, Doctor," she repeated. Her whisper was practically inaudible. "I don't wanna be here no more."

"We're not gonna be," he replied. "Not for much longer, we're not. I just have to find a way out."

The Iaculi stronghold was a labyrinth of metal and sodium lamps, greenish glows masking hidden passages and false corridors. Each pool of light felt like summer sun in comparison to the cold, dank shadows that followed directly afterward. The Doctor treaded lightly; the floor beneath his feet was thin as aluminum foil, and prone to moaning under even the slightest shift in weight.

He tried to recall the schematic of the stronghold, make a mental map, try to get out. If he had gotten in, how come he couldn't get out? Maybe it was the responsibility of having someone to save and protect.

"I miss my mummy," she sighed, as though to while away the frightening time. "I miss Great-Gramps, and I sort of miss Gran, but I really, really miss Mummy. Do you think she misses me, Doctor?"

"I bet she would," he answered. "You're not too easy to forget, Margaret."

"Okay."

More silence, coupled with the occasional squeak of the Doctor's shoes.

"Do you think we're gonna be okay, Doctor?"

"I know so, Margaret."

"Okay."

_Cree-eeeeeek._

"Doctor, what's that?" Margaret whispered, suddenly horrorstruck again, squeezing him tightly.

"Just my feet, Margaret."

_Cree-eeeeeek._ Then the scream of metal on metal, then a constrained, hissing laugh, eerily loud against the silence.

"Doctor!" Margaret lost control of her whisper, the start of a shriek escaping her mouth before she cupped a hand over it.

The Doctor took Margaret off his shoulders, putting her on the ground quickly. His hearts raced, trying desperately to beat him apart. He knelt down in front of her and placed his hands on her tiny shoulders. "Margaret," he murmured. "Margaret, I want you to run. I want you to run to the nearest place you can find and wait there, hide. Wait for me, all right? I've got to get rid of these men and then we'll leave. We'll even celebrate Christmas, when we get out, all right?"

"Will you be alive?" Margaret's wide eyes began to pool with tears.

"I guarantee it."

"What's garran...garrant...what's that mean? Does it mean you're gonna die, Doctor?"

"No, that means I'm su…I'm going to live." The lie burned in the forefront of his mind, the swallowed "sure" feeling like a swallow of lead.

Margaret bit her lip, then rushed at him and hugged him. "I just don't want you to dis-appear like I dis-appeared Mummy."

"I won't." He tried to smile and hugged her back.

She drew back. "You promise?" She put her hands on her hips.

"I promise."

She nodded sadly before taking off, away from him, into the darkness, the soft padding of her footed pink pajamas disappearing with her.

He stood up, glancing around. There seemed to be some brighter, more natural glow at the end of the corridor. It seemed miles away, and besides, the Doctor reasoned to himself, they wouldn't just leave an easy exit open like that. Guards probably lurked in every shadow, every corridor within a hundred feet of that exit.

He felt around in his coat pocket for the sonic screwdriver, grasping it, then removing it from his pocket. Squinting, he scanned the voids with the sonic. Nothing. He slipped it back into its place. As he did so, the hissing laugh repeated, practically making him drop the sonic.

_This is mental._

Where was the TARDIS when he needed her? All he wanted to do was whisk up the little girl, take her in his arms and into the warm enclosure of the bronze metal lining the TARDIS. He could take her back in time, erase her capture by the Iaculi, though it would be rather difficult to convince the desperate race to let her go.

The hissing laugh again. The Doctor jumped. The sound was becoming nails on a chalkboard, no, worse than that.

He couldn't stay there much longer. He had to get out, get away from the Iaculi, hopefully avoiding a confrontation in the process. The Doctor had certainly seen more vicious aliens before, but the Iaculi were notorious intergalactic extremists and radicals. If they thought that Margaret was a young Donna Noble, the most important woman in the universe just waiting to become such, they'd put up quite a fight and risk anything in order to keep her in their custody. He knew their population was dwindling, and that they were desperately in need of luck—any luck.

He just wished he could explain that a four-year-old girl wasn't quite the luck they were in need of.

* * *

"Lord Septhalos."

"Ah, Coluber. I see you have come empty-handed."

"The girl wasn't in her holding cell, my lord, or anywhere on the prison level."

"I wonder, Coluber, if that can be attributed to the innate ability of little girls to run away in times of strife."

"I'm sorry, my lord."

"Oh, enough with the 'my lord' business, I know you don't mean any of it sincerely. You're just here for the pay cut."

"It is a pretty large pay cut, my lord. Angisenerba was a fairly sized village. Before it was destroyed, of course."

"I suppose so. If only you could see, my slightly idiotic friend, the impact that finding the runaway Noble girl would have on history, and perhaps on Angisenerba. You won't get your stupid village or anything from it unless Miss Donna Noble can help us bring back our people and our planet. And the little Miss isn't going to do the Iaculi any good if she isn't here."

"Sorry, my—"

"Don't even begin."

"Sorry."

"Now, Miss Noble can't have disappeared on he own. She's much too small and stupid to have opened the door on her own. She must have had help, but whom?"

"I haven't seen anyone in the corridors, my…Septhalos."

"Don't get friendly with me, Coluber. Don't address me at all, if you must. But as I was about to say, you haven't seen anyone yet because you've only been on the prison level. If you were to, say, visit the other levels of the stronghold—"

"I was just about to do that."

"Don't interrupt, Coluber, or I will cut of your food and scale wax for an Earth-month's time. But if you were to visit the rest of the stronghold, I believe you'd come across someone. Someone whose name you should know very well. He's saved worlds, rescued people, but won't stand to help lowdown reptiles such as our dear departed Iaculi. Any guesses who he is?"

"…"

"Any guesses, I asked?"

"…"

"…"

"Pardon the colloquialism, Lord Septhalos, but…you have got to be kidding me."

"No, it's him."

"The Doctor?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes, Coluber, yes!"

"..."

"..."

"I guess I'll be off to check the rest of the stronghold, Lord Septhalos."

* * *

_***Bonus A/N: I've been SO THOROUGHLY enjoying all of these R&Rs. Cough cough. Anyway, review, please. The fourth chapter is going to be in the works soon.**_

_**PS: Gold shiny stars go to those who have favorited/followed A Noble Little Girl, namely Bow to me Fools BOW I SAY (lol, best pen name), For You Blue, Ladybug Jess, LenkaJeneva, Inoue Orihime15, and Niki Shields. Thanks, you guys! ^^~**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: For those of you who commented or thought about commenting on Margaret's lack of a biracial appearance, there was method to that madness. I'm sorry if I offended anyone. Questions will be answered in this chapter.**_

_**And no, I don't own pretty much anything in this chapter, including River Song, the TARDIS, the superphone, the Doctor, Donna Noble, and Lee McAvoy. I still own Margaret and the Iaculi. I haven't given them to the BBC.**_

_**Yet.**_

_**(Just kidding.)**_

* * *

River Song had a superphone.

The Doctor had given it to her as a necessary precaution. But River Song also wasn't big on precautionary measures, so she rarely touched it. Until, of course, it unexpectedly went off in the middle of her bath.

She had practically fallen asleep in the tub, warm water sloshing wavelike over her body, the knots in her muscles deciding at last to come undone. The TARDIS had really outdone herself: lavender soap, perpetually hot water, dim lights, and a convenient cease to her constant whooshing noises. After testing the water and experimentally smelling the soap (was it a wonderful bar of soap, indeed), River had sunken into the warm embrace of the bathwater and vowed never to get out.

An unceremonious beeping shook River from her stupor. Sitting straight up in the water, she glanced around the bathroom in search of the source. Not seeing it within view, she shrugged apologetically and leaned back in the water, trying to ignore the beep.

And yet the beep did not ignore River.

With a sigh, she stood up from the bath and reached for the nearest of several fluffy towels and wrapped herself in it. She shoved aside her clothes—nothing. Reaching for the nearest drawer, she opened it to find nothing more than a vibrating and shrilly ringing cell phone.

_So that's where the superphone went. I assumed I'd lost it._

Leaning against the counter, she plucked the phone up gingerly with wet hands, pressing the "talk" button. "Hello, sweetie."

"River, I appreciate the sentiment, but now is really not the time." He spoke in a hushed, if forceful, whisper.

River smirked. "Well, when would be?"

"Later, later." He didn't sound amused. "Listen, are you available to…erm, help me?"

"What kind of help do you need?" She raised her eyebrows, now a little less playful. "And where are you? Why are you whispering?"

"I'm in an Iaculi stronghold in an unfortunate situation."

"The Iaculi?" She sat down on the edge of the bath with a brush, absently running it through her thick, wet curls. "I thought they had gone off the map ages ago. Dead race of snake people, right? Unless you're thinking of a different kind of Iaculi."

"No, that's them. They just…" He released a puff of air that sent static into River's ear. "Apparently, some of them lived. And one Iaculus has captured who he believes to be a four-year-old Donna Noble."

River gasped. "Have they really got her?"

"No, but they've got her little daughter."

"Donna has a daughter now?"

"Key word is 'had,' she had a daughter, named Margaret. But now they've up and captured her. They're laboring under the very unfortunate delusion that she's Donna, and that this little four-year-old most important woman in the world will help their dead race rise again."

"Poor thing." River shook her head, pulling her knees to her chest. "But have you got her?"

"Once again: had." A tide of guilt hovered dangerously behind his words. "I got her free, but I had to let her go."

"You lost a little girl? Donna's little girl?"

"I didn't lose her!"

"But you don't know where she is! That means you lost her!"

"I told her to run away and find somewhere safe!"

"What if she isn't safe, Doctor?" River found herself standing up next to the bathtub, shouting into the superphone. "What if she isn't? You've just set a four-year-old loose in the stronghold of a crazy alien race. Does that sound clever to you? You're a genius, but sometimes you can be a right idiot. Just because you want her to be safe doesn't mean she will be! You can't rely on that? Does that sound at all clever?"

"It doesn't," he replied, exasperated and exhausted, "but now she is lost and I really need your help so if you do or don't mind please come help me."

"I'm in the bath." That was an abject lie; she wasn't in the bath, and she didn't plan on getting back in.

A pause, then he gulped. "Well—ah, hm, can you—um—er—can't you just—"

"I'm out now." She smirked mirthlessly, slipping into her clothes after a brisk dry-down. "The old girl and I are headed over, I suppose. The stronghold is where, again?"

"I never said, but it's on Earth. Big old warehouse in Wrexham. Rather metal-y, rather dark. Probably looks suspicious from the air."

"Don't get lost in there, now, sweetie." She tapped the end call button and dropped the superphone onto her towel. Yanking her curls into a ponytail, River half-chuckled, trying to imagine under what circumstance Donna Noble would have consented to have children.

* * *

_Donna hadn't supposed most hen night parties went like this, a lot of drinking, a lot of giggling, a lot of gossip, and little to no actual discussion about the wedding. As no one had hosted a hen night for her when she married Lance, she wouldn't know._

_But now she sat at the left end of the bar with her third cocktail, and the girls sat at the right end, giggling and gossiping and not talking about the wedding at all. In the back of her mind, she knew it would end up like this, but she had been hoping for the best._

_In hindsight, the general idea of a hen night wasn't the best, considering that Donna wasn't a proper bachelorette. Or a proper anything. She was getting a little old to be a bride._

_But she loved Shaun, and that was what mattered. She loved him, and in a week, they'd be married. Mrs. Temple-Noble. The name sounded too foreign, like it wasn't going to be a legitimate part of her._

_"To life," she muttered to herself, and took a halfhearted sip of her amaretto cocktail._

_A loud chorus of "GOAL!" from her left shook her from her amaretto wonderland. A table just off of the bar was surrounded by perhaps the sloppiest looking men she'd ever seen. Each clasped what she assumed was a nearly empty bottle of lager, and each had their eyes glued to the television, airing a football match between Estonia and Basque Country, in which the former was suffering a horrifying defeat at the hands of the latter._

_All but one of the men._

_Donna blinked. Was he looking at her? The man at the end of the table closest to her, with black curly hair and a drunkard's frown, seemed to stare directly at her, turned around in his chair, slumped against the back._

_"Excuse me?" she asked, affronted. "Never seen a ginger before, have you? Bugger off."_

_He shook his head, as though to clear it. He straightened up. "Oh, s-sorry, Ginge. D-d-didn't mean to st-stare."_

_He had a stammer, even when drunk. Endearing, Donna thought sarcastically._

_"Think you're funny, staring at a woman who's on her hen night? I'm taken, Stammer." She slammed her amaretto to the countertop. "And don't try to call me Ginge."_

_"Y-you're on your hen night t-too?" he replied. "I mean, I'm n-not, I'm on m-my st-stag night. Obv-viously not my hen night, or I wouldn't b-be surrounded by these b-bastards. They're cheering for B-Basque. I hate B-Basque. I d-don't think I've ever really heard of B-Basque, or Estonia, r-really."_

_"Well, my lot's more interested in my neighbor's engagement than my wedding," she countered. "My wedding! I've got the big old rock on my finger right now, and they're on about a wedding next June! And they're the ones who're gonna be my bridesmaids!"_

_He laughed. "You're f-funny, Ginge. G-got a name?"_

_"Donna."_

_"Lee."_

_Lee? The name should've reminded her of someone, but she couldn't quite think who._

_Instead of putting effort into remembering, she patted the space next to her at the bar. "Up here, Lee."_

_He smiled and obliged, trotting over to the bar. "W-want another amaretto? On me."_

_"I'd love to, thanks."_

_Lee waved down a bartender and ordered Donna's fourth drink, as well as another lager for himself._

_"So, why's a good looking young man like you getting married so early?" Donna asked once the bartender left. "I'm surprised you're not staying in the field."_

_"I'm actually not as y-young as I m-may look," he chuckled._

_"Try me."_

_"Thirty-seven."_

_Donna's eyes widened, and she let out a laugh loud enough to distract her party from their gossip. "Thirty-seven? I would've guessed you were ten years younger at least!"_

_"What about you, D-donna, why aren't you out meeting m-more men until you get married?"_

_"I'm nearly your age. I turn thirty-seven next month."_

_Lee whistled. "Old d-dogs, we are."_

_"Oi, watch it, Stammer," she snapped, making Lee chuckle._

_He passed Donna her cocktail and took a swig from his lager. "You want a ride home, Donna?" He wasn't stammering. His voice was surprisingly clear._

_She smirked. "Depends on whose home."_

_"Mine or yours, it's your choice."_

_"Yours sounds great."_

* * *

_She woke up with her head on a man's chest._

_Donna's head felt heavy. She was a little cold, and there were sheets tangled around her ankles._

_Horror began to pulse with her headache. Whose bed was this?_

_It all came back to her. The drinks. The man. The offer of a ride home._

_"I'm so sorry," she whispered, climbing out of the bed, slipping on her clothes, and tiptoeing away sadly._

_He sat bolt upright when he heard the door to the apartment close. "D-d-Donna? D-d-Donna?" He was stone-cold sober now._

_Donna._

_D-d-Donna._

_He never forgot a face. He wouldn't forget hers._

* * *

_**How's that for a plot twist? ~Nat**_

_**PS: To those of you who are newly following the story, hello! Thanks for the faves and follows. Keep R&Ring, I love feedback!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: I don't own anything except Margaret and the Iaculi, as usual. And a rather nice 4th Doctor scarf that I'm wearing while I write.**_

* * *

_The thing about me, _Margaret thought calmly and proudly, _is that I'm brilliant at hide-and-go-seek._

The little girl was curled up in a cold corner of the Iaculi stronghold, knees to chest, footed feet crossed. After the Doctor had let her go, she had furtively crept around the stronghold in the dark until she encountered the best place to hide. It turned out that pretending to be playing hide-and-go-seek with mean bad guys and one good guy called the Doctor was a fantastic way to hide.

She'd been sitting in the same iron corner since she found it, in the same position. At first, it had been exciting—the bad guys could be anywhere! The Doctor was going to confuse them and find her, scoop her up, take her home to Mummy. She'd been sparking with energy.

Now, the minutes seemed to pass like hours. Staying up past 9:30 the night before to see whether Father Christmas would come out of the upstairs toilet, through the front door, or from within the pantry was starting to take its toll. Pink and green spots danced in front of her eyes in the darkness. She was starting to get extremely sweaty and itchy in her pajamas, and she smelled like a shopping mall bathroom.

She shifted around, sliding down the metal wall into a fetal ball on the metal floor. Sticking out her arm, Margaret lay her head against her sleeve and sighed.

Nothing to do now. Nothing but wait.

_I think I'll just close my eyes so those dots go away…_

* * *

_She was with the Doctor._

_Margaret blinked. _Wow, what is this place?

_She turned slowly on her tiptoes, trying to take in the sheer magnitude of the huge room surrounding her. The ceilings were high, higher than she would ever reach, and made of a warm coppery metal. The soft hummmmm of machinery filled the room, but it wasn't like anything she had ever heard. To her right was a huge panel of blinking lights and buttons and knobs and levers and things that made sound and things that didn't. To her left was a massive green Christmas tree, with silver wrapped presents. in numbers too high for her to count, in a mound underneath._

_"Do you like them?"_

_She jumped and spun around. The Doctor stood behind her, wearing his silly red bowtie and an inviting smile. "The presents. Do you like them?" he repeated._

_"Oh, yesyesyesyesYES!" Margaret squealed, making the Doctor laugh. "There's so many and they're all so pretty! Who are they for, Doctor?"_

_"They're for you."_

_"REALLLY?" The Doctor laughed again at her exhilarated shriek. "Oh, thankyouthankyou! Can I open them right now?"_

_"Of course you can, Margaret." He walked over to her and sat down next to her. _

_Screwing up her face in thought, she scrutinized the mound of presents. _Should I open the round one, or the long one, or the blocky looking one? _Closing her eyes, she randomly plucked one of the presents up. _

_She opened her eyes. It was a shoeox-sized silver box with bright blue ribbon. Grinning from ear to ear, she untied the ribbon and ripped off the silver paper. Giving the Doctor a "here goes" look, she threw open the lid and gasped._

_There was a woman in the box. A woman with blonde curls and a gun. The woman seemed to be in a part of the box that went below the box itself, like a little room in her present. She didn't seem to notice Margaret until Margaret released a tiny squeak._

_The woman looked up. "Margaret," she said, her voice unnaturally cool. "Hello."_

_"Who are you?"_

_"Not someone you know, but someone who can help you."_

_"What are you doing in my present?"_

_"Helping you."_

_"Oh."_

_"Margaret, do you know why you were taken from your mummy?"_

_"No." A tear welled in Margaret's eye._

_"Well, it's because there are dangerous people, mad people, who think that you're your mum." The woman shifted her feet. "And it's my job to keep them away from you. Which is why I'll have to do this. I'm sorry, but you'll thank me when you're awake. Your mum loves you." She smiled helplessly, as though she couldn't stop herself from whatever she had to do. "Sorry, sweetie. I don't want to do this."_

_Before Margaret could flinch, the woman pointed her gun at her. _

_Margaret screamed and dropped the box. "DOCTOR! THERE'S A WOMAN IN MY PRESENT AND SHE'S POINTING A THINGY AT ME!"_

_But the Doctor was no longer in the room. Nor were the rest of the presents or the tree._

_Margaret heard a whirring noise, and suddenly she was sucked into the box, falling, falling, screaming, flailing, falling into a deep void, stars blinking past her, deep space consuming her, the woman nowhere to be seen…_

* * *

Margaret woke up, sweatier than she had been before falling asleep. Footsteps shook the metal grating beneath her, boots clanging on iron.

She sat up, scooting against the wall, trying to condense herself into a small enough ball so as not to be seen.

_One, two, three, two…no! It's one…two…threefourfivesix…seven…seven…_

Not even counting could quell her mind, the words in her brain replaced with _runandhide runandhide runandhide_. She was paralyzed with fear.

She knew the Doctor wanted her to hide, but all she wanted to do was run away, run far away.

A weak, watery beam of light began to solidify on the floor in front of her, shaking like a flashlight in a tidal wave. She shrunk away from it, into the shadows, her legs tucked beneath her and her arms wrapped around herself, bracing herself, prepared to run.

The light shone brighter than the sun now. Margaret closed her eyes tightly, her little fingernails digging furrows into her upper arms.

_Doctor! _she thought frantically, red light streaming through her eyelids.

And suddenly the clanging stopped, the light froze.

"Hello, sweetie. You must be Donna's little girl."

The voice was comforting, a syrupy whisper. A familiar one. Margaret didn't risk opening her eyes.

"It's okay, I don't want to hurt you."

Keeping her eyes closed, she shook her head.

"Sweetie, I really don't want to hurt you."

Where had she heard that voice before?

_My dream!_

"Sweetie?"

"NO!" Margaret stood up boldly, opening her eyes but keeping her arms crossed. "No, I know you! You're the woman from my box!"

Sure enough, the woman before her was the woman from her dream. However, instead of wearing a catlike grin, the blonde-haired woman frowned, hands on her hips.

"I'm not sure what you mean." The woman brushed a curly tendril of hair away from her face.

"Yes, you do!" Margaret shouted. "You were in MY BOX and you tried to hurt me and you made the Doctor dis-appeared!"

The woman shook her head. "Sweetie, I don't know what you mean, but I would never hurt you or the Doctor. I've known him for a very long time and I've come to regard him as a person who's more than exceptional."

"What?"

"Sweetie, I'm…a rather close friend of his."

"Then why did you try to hurt me in the box?" Margaret inquired. "Why did you do that if you and the Doctor are friends? The Doctor's my friend too!"

Something in the blonde woman's pocket buzzed, but she ignored it. "I've never seen you before. I don't know what you could possibly mean, but I don't think we should be waiting around here. There's probably some nasty life-forms who wouldn't mind taking a bite of me and whisking you off to another planet. Let's not dilly-dally...what's your name?"

"Margaret." She squinted suspiciously at the Doctor's supposed friend.

"Well, come along, Margaret. This isn't a place for either of us little girls."

* * *

_**Keep on R&Ring, y'all! I'm grateful for every new follow/favorite I get on this piece. Hopefully, this quarter of the school year won't be entirely debilitating, and I'll be able to post more frequent updates.**_

_**Here's hoping. ~Nat**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Sorry for the incredible delay, but at last, it's up! The story has nearly 1500 views (!), 18 followers, and 10 favorites. I'm impressed with its success. Thanks so much for keeping up with it, and thanks for the R&Rs!**_

_**I don't own: River, the Doctor, the TARDIS, Donna Noble, the BBC, or Doctor Who**_

_**I do own: Margaret, the Iaculi, a homemade bowtie**_

* * *

The creaking metal halls of the Iaculi stronghold were louder than gunfire now. The Doctor felt as though he'd spent much too long searching for the exit, scanning and double-scanning corridor after corridor with the sonic. It had become an endless labyrinth of whistling wind and dark iron, with the occasional tantalizing taste of light winking into momentary existence.

_People could go mad in here,_ he thought darkly. _But I'm not a person. I'm a Time Lord. A Time Lord with a four-year-old human depending on me._

_Let's go, Doctor._

He willed himself to keep going, to not forget to scan the upcoming corridor.

* * *

Sometimes he could swear he heard hissing, a strangely reptilian whisper over the tinny breeze. Sometimes the hissing told him to run away, to give it up. Told him he'd never find Margaret, that there was no way he could overcome the might of the Iaculi.

He would simply shrug and tell the hissing to mind its own business.

Other times he would glance briefly down a slightly brighter corridor and be sure he just saw one of his old companions. He could almost forget he was still stuck in the stronghold. Sometimes Rose smiled back at him, reminding him to keep going, that getting out was worth years any labyrinth. Sometimes Martha pumped her fist in celebration, as if to say, You're a step closer, come on, Doctor! Sometimes Jack just winked, arms crossed, legs planted, smile set.

The worst was when Donna bit her lip, holding back tears, whispering to him, saying, Come on, Spaceman.

* * *

"River Song, where's the Doctor?"

"Shh, sweetie, be quiet."

The Doctor nearly tore his pocket in two in an attempt to grab his sonic screwdriver. The voices were faint, like his imaginary companions, but he hadn't seen or heard imaginary Margarets or River Songs yet. Perhaps the Iaculi were playing tricks on him again.

Perhaps the ripping of his coat pocket was loud enough to quell whatever imposter had spoken; the boot-falls had vanished into silence and no more voices could be heard.

His hearts beating twin tattoos against his chest, he scanned the darkness with the sonic, releasing a steady beep.

Life forms?

"Who's there?" he asked, trying to control the quaver in his voice.

Utter silence. Nearly deafening.

"I asked who's there! I know someone's there?"

"Doctor?"

The Doctor was paralyzed in fear. "Margaret?"

"Doctor!" The four-year-old's voice was full of glee.

"Shh!" the other voice said sharply before whispering, "Doctor? Is that you?"

As though they were two more of his imaginary companions, River and Margaret seemed to appear out of the darkness. He melted in relief.

Margaret's face lit up, and she sprinted toward the Doctor, her footed pajamas drumming softly against the metal. He knelt down, and she leapt at him and hugged him, murmuring, "Doctor, Doctor, I got lost and I fell asleep and I had a dream with evil boxes and you dis-appeared in my dream and then I woke up and I thought River Song was gonna kill me but she didn't and she's really nice and she says she's your friend and I missed you!" The Doctor couldn't help but smile and wonder what kind of dream would involve evil boxes.

River smiled softly at Margaret, her ponytail a mass of blonde springs behind her head. She looked up at the Doctor with her usual flirtatious grin. "Hello, sweetie."

Margaret looked up from the Doctor's jacket to see River and the Doctor meeting each other's eyes. Some new idea dawned on her, and she smiled mischievously, backing away from the Doctor. She pulled on River's pant leg and motioned for her to come closer.

"What, sweetie?"

"Are you going to kiss the Doctor, River?"

River laughed, looking up at the Doctor before shaking her head at Margaret. "Dear, you don't ask people that!"

"But are you, though?"

"We'll see." River stood back up. "Well, Doctor, come along, the TARDIS is waiting just outside the stronghold. Let's go."

"Really?" The Doctor looked incredulous. "You got in that easily? No Iaculi?"

"Not that I saw. It should be easy enough if we stay quiet."

"It can't be this easy. They're waiting somewhere, I guarantee it." He pulled her away from Margaret, who beamed like a pleased tiger. "River Song, the two Iaculi I know are here will not give up without a fight. They're the last of their kind, and they thing they've traveled back in time to when Donna was a girl. They think they've gotten little Donna Noble, the most powerful woman in the world, and they'll hold her hostage until she grows old enough to do something magnificent and save their race, even make the Iaculi the rulers of the galaxy. They won't just let us leave like this."

River shook her head. "Doctor, I understand your concern, but we can't spend too much time worrying. We need to get out before they realize we're here. We'll get to the TARDIS and get away from here, drop Margaret off with her mum in Chiswick, and leave the Nobles before Donna can get suspicious."

"Fine." The Doctor shook his head. "Fine. We'll just go, go right now, without any planning."

"I didn't say no planning, I just said fast. I have a plan. I just told you the plan, now let's go!"

Reluctantly, the Doctor nodded.

When they returned to Margaret, her eyebrows were furrowed in trademark confusion. "Doctor, are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm always okay. I'm the king of okay."

She didn't laugh as he'd hoped. "I don't think you are, though."

River Song got down on her knees in front of Margaret. "Margaret, stay close to us. We're going to take you home now, but you're going to have to be very careful and very quiet. You'll be back home to your mummy in no time. Do you understand?"

Margaret nodded solemnly.

"Right." River stood back up. "Doctor, lead the way. Let's go."

* * *

"Coluber?"

"Yes, Lord Septhalos?"

"What did I say about calling me Lord Septhalos?"

"Not to."

"You genius!"

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment. It was sarcasm, dear Coluber."

"…"

"…"

"You were saying, Septhalos, sir?"

"I guess sir is fine. Regardless, Coluber, have you found Donna Noble or the Doctor yet?"

"No, sir. I searched every level except…well, every level except the levels that aren't the prison level, sir."

"So, once again, you disregard my advice to search elsewhere and stay in the prison level, where you know not even a four-year-old is impossibly ignorant enough to stay?"

"I believe so, yes, sir."

"Of all the Iaculi to get stuck with, of course the great Lord Septhalos ends up with you. Coluber, you idiot! I told you to search elsewhere and I _meant_ search elsewhere, do you hear me? Now I have to do it myself."

"Sorry, sir."

"Get out of my sight."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Out. Of. My. Sight. Or I'll kill you along with the Doctor."

* * *

_Nearly there_. The Doctor hardly remembered what light looked like until he saw what was before him: a massive doorway agleam with the spiced orange glow of sunset. He ran to it like a desert dweller to water, River keeping pace, Margaret darting by River's side.

The image of Margaret's face once they reached this freedom was all he could think about now. He just wanted her home, safe, where she belonged. Only once they were in the TARDIS and headed to Chiswick would he feel comfortable.

The light was closer than ever, and the Doctor could make out the shape of the TARDIS in the distance—

"Going somewhere? It'd be a shame to lose you, Donna Noble."

* * *

_**Bonus A/N: Chapter 7 will be in the works. Who knows when it'll be published, but I'll keep y'all updated. In return, keep recommending as well as R&Ring. So, I guess, R&R&R. **_

_**Please.**_

_**Thank you. ~Nat**_


End file.
